Predicting Unpredictability
by Sachita
Summary: In hindsight, that must have been the mistake- Minerva had never been one to be categorised and never one to be owned, no matter how much Tom wanted her to be.  Minerva/Tom over the years.


_Just some Tom/Minerva for you to enjoy :) Happy New Year! Please_ _leave me a review :) They make my day! And in canon, Tom and Minerva are not in the same year, but for the purpose of this story they are.  
><em>

_Sachita_

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement intended._

* * *

><p><strong>Predicting Unpredictability<br>**

* * *

><p><strong>1943 <strong>

A spot of red was on the white handkerchief she had put to her mouth from where she had bitten on her tongue a few minutes prior. She put it down to lie beside her on the table, then glanced up, shaking a strand of dark, luscious hair out of her eyes, those green eyes lost in deep thought, then bit her lip- again- and her look returned to her book.

The boy in the shadows studied her motionlessly. He catalogued every motion she made and every silly remark she let slip to her numerous red-and-golden-clad companions.

He paid attention when she outshone everyone else-save him- in class with her knowledge. She leaned back in her seat, tossed her hand into the air eagerly, shoved her tongue from one side of her mouth to the other- a nervous habit that he found annoyingly adorable- and practically quivered with nervous energy before replying in a conscientious and thorough manner to every question, no manner how complicated it had been. He found it intriguing. Of course she was no match to him, but he could acknowledge that she came close. He didn't only find it intriguing. He found it dangerous. It was simple Slytherin thinking to eliminate all possible enemies- and she could become a formidable one in time. So why not apply another method- _bring about defeat through conquest? _

She saw him then, standing in the shadows, and he allowed her to see him long enough for her eyes to widen, then smirked and slowly turned to go. Before he left, though, he glanced back over his shoulder to see her sinking back into her seat, bringing the tea cup to her lips. He knew that she would lick over her lips before drinking- and like he had predicted, she did. A small sneer graced his lips. Intelligence, yes, but oh- how predictable she was.

He continued to watch her over the next few weeks and was secretly delighted to see her irritation at his actions grow.

Being the predictable Gryffindor she was, she sought him out after dinner one day.

"If you are trying to ask me out in a very roundabout, very creepy, very Slytherin way, why don't you just go up to my face like a man and do it?"

She was very brash, very direct, very Minerva. Tom smirked slowly.

"Well, then. My dear, will you go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?"

"No," she replied plainly.

_**No?**_ "No," he repeated incredulously.

She laughed refreshingly unrestrained, throwing her black braid over her shoulder. A few stray hair danced around her chin and gleamed red in the evening sun. Tom's fingers itched to tug a few hair pins out of that formidable hairdo, but he figured that it wouldn't win him any points in her favour. "You will have to try harder than that, Mister Slytherin," she laughed and tugged her friend- the one with the russet locks and the quick mouth- Poppy was it?- away.

He did try harder then.

On Valentine's Day- how utterly predictable- he brought her flowers and chocolates. She smiled, but did not comment on it.

When he saw her in the library one day, she was again drinking tea out of a white porcelain cup, her little left finger bent at an odd angle. Mystified, he watched until she finally laughed, beckoning him to come over. "How can you bend your finger like that?" he asked curiously. "It seems very painful."

Minerva told him that it was easier than it looked.

Still, when she tried to teach him, he failed.

The day was a good one and when she kissed his cheek that evening in a chaste manner, he thought he might have finally won over. But on the next day, she refused his offer again and Tom grew incensed- no-one refused him. No-one.

Fate intervened though. On that day, Professor Slughorn asked for volunteers, who would tutor the First Years in Potions. Minerva's eyes gleamed, as Tom thought, utterly fanatically, and naturally her hand shot up in the air. How _absolutely_ predictable.

But Minerva looked at him intently until Tom's eyes widened and his own hand joined hers.

"Oh, Tom," Professor Slughorn boomed, "that is very kind of you indeed, thank you for your offer, my boy, but aren't you busy with your studies? I know you work very hard for all your classes."

Slughorn had offered him a way out that Tom would have loved to take, but a glance at Minerva showed that the fanatism in her eyes hadn't waned. He needed to have her and he could see that she was already expecting him to take Slughorn up on his offer.

_Beat your enemy with the unexpected._

"Why, Professor, I am sure I can handle it," he replied smoothly and smiled charmingly. "After all, it's important to further the education of our young in every possible way," he added and it was so sickeningly sweet that he nearly gagged.

Minerva's eyes, however, were sparkling as she looked at him and Tom knew that he had won.

She was so terrifyingly predictably Gryffindor that it was nearly nauseating.

On that Hogsmeade weekend they finally went to, she surprised him yet again.

"I know that you haven't offered to tutor the First Years out of the goodness of your heart, Tom," she said sagaciously, smiling prettily all the while.

He tried to play the innocent card, but her pretty smile just increased and reminded him of a shark. Tom scowled, but he wanted her all the more.

She beat him at chess that day as well, but when he demanded a rematch, she laughed and danced out of the Great Hall, smelling of moorland herb and ginger bread.

* * *

><p><strong>1944<strong>

Their relationship processed nicely after that day, albeit in a rocky manner, which could be blamed on their volatile tempers.

Tom got Minerva some cat food in order to congratulate her on her successful Animagus transformation. She was not overly amused when he laughed wickedly.

Minerva once accidentally hit him with her Beater's bat when he attempted to wish her luck for the upcoming Quidditch match and he had to spend the night in the hospital wing. Tom wasn't overly amused that day either.

When he met her family, Tom was sufficiently intimidated by Minerva's older brother, Andrew, who had two heads on him and huge upper arms- yet the dark glare he sent Tom faded when he saw Minerva and turned to a sunny smile. Tom was on his best behaviour that day, always predicting every possible turnout of this situation. Andrew was no match for him in all things magic-related, but Tom had always been bad at blunt fist fights.

Back at Hogwarts, when Professor Dumbledore saw the two of them kissing, he always glared.

Tom smiled falsely back at him and pointed out to Minerva that the old man was jealous.

She just blew some strands of hair out of her eyes, smiling widely: "No. He wants to control what I am doing and what I am not doing- he's only looking out for my best interests, of course. But I am not to be controlled by anyone."

She leaned in closer then, whispering: "He thinks you are a bad influence on me."

Tom shivered when her hot breath hit his skin: "Well, what do you think?"

Leaning back, Minerva smiled patiently. "Of course you are, you foolish boy. But that doesn't stop me from loving you."

Tom scowled darkly in the direction of Dumbledore after Minerva's explanation. The only one who would ever own her was him. Minerva's hand on his arm interrupted his musings.

"What?," he snapped.

"Aren't you supposed to say it back when someone tells you that they love you?"

"Of course," Tom said, smiling automatically, dropping a kiss to her head. "I love you too."

_He would have her for his own, no matter what it took._

* * *

><p><strong>1945<strong>

After finishing school, Minerva's mother, who was of the opinion that Minerva was to marry a pureblood, all but told her to leave the house.

Minerva came to Tom's shabby little flat in London with running make-up and red eyes. She was not a pretty crier.

Tom comforted her, telling her that it would all be alright, and smiled secretly to himself. Now she'd be even more dependent on him.

They vacationed in Florida that year – a journey sponsored by Malfoy's family; Minerva never asked- and got into a fierce argument right on a boat-trip in the Everglades. Tom was entirely certain that no matter how enraged Minerva was, she would never throw him overboard right at a place where, according to their tour guide, both alligators and crocodiles liked to dwell. Add to that a boat filled with Muggles- no.

To say that Tom was surprised when he found himself splashing and swimming about in the murky water of the Marshlands with a vicious-looking alligator closing in on him no two seconds after that would have been an understatement. Some fierce spellwork later, there was a harmless plastic toy alligator floating around with a dumbfounded expression and a boat filled with gaping Muggles, whose memories had been entirely wiped.

Tom was sitting opposite Minerva, glaring sullenly at her, wiping wet strands of hair interspersed with some algae out of his face.

"That was entirely uncalled for," he ground out.

Minerva pressed a kiss to his lips and merely smiled. "I am sorry, Tom. But you deserved it."

In hindsight, he should have seen that this had been entirely predictable, too.

* * *

><p><strong>1947<strong>

When Minerva left him after he had disclosed some of his world views to her, it was completely predictable and foolishly Gryffindor-like of her.

"You have always been predictable, Minerva," he pointed out.

She slapped him with tears shining in her eyes. "And you have always been a bastard, Tom."

"True," he grinned though the grin stretched his face into a grimace.

Through her sobs, she continued. "You always have a plan for everything, Tom. Well, guess what, life is not like that! You are probably thinking that I'll come back to you, knowing how much you think of yourself!"

Behind Tom's blank mask, his face fell a little, because that was exactly what he had been thinking- minus the part of being self-centred, of course.

"I am leaving," Minerva screamed and she did leave, then.

Tom hadn't predicted this. He hadn't. Falling heavily back onto his bed, he blinked at the ceiling, admitting to himself that maybe the only predictable thing about Minerva had been her unpredictability.

As the years went by, Tom convinced himself that he was glad she was gone.

Sometimes though, he imagined to smell the scent of moorland herbs and ginger bread in his chamber and when drinking tea he never could quite bend his little left finger.

* * *

><p><strong>1998<strong>

Later, much later, when Lord Voldemort had been vanquished and his Death Eaters had all been locked up, a group of Aurors was mystified to find a package of dried cat food in the cupboard of the most feared wizard of the world.

"He was truly bonkers," one sighed and everyone nodded in agreement. "Maybe he kept cats for his snake to feed on," another one suggested.

They all shuddered and all decided that it must have been it, because someone like Lord Voldemort certainly never could have owned a cat, now could he?


End file.
